


Sticks & Stones

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dark, Episode: s08e11 Dark Water, F/M, Injury, Rough Sex, Sadly Not Porn, jossed very soon yes, not very nice?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2569019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scratches on his back sting when the water hits them, but he doesn't flinch away or wince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks & Stones

The scratches on his back sting when the water hits them, but he doesn't flinch away or wince. He stands still under the shower for a good five minutes, paying close attention to the nuances of the pain. It's important that he doesn't forget anything. 

There's just a trace of blood in the water as it circles the drain. 

He assesses the damage to his body, the bitten lower lip and the bruises on his hips. Missy's marks are as beautiful and violent as she is. They are a welcome reminder of the reality of the situation.

He hopes he won't heal too quickly. 

 

Clara wouldn't approve. This, strangely enough, is the thought uppermost in his mind as Missy starts unbuttoning his shirt. That Clara Oswald, human, wouldn't approve of what the last remaining Time Lords are doing. What they are going to do, have done, will always do. 

Each button is popped in turn until Missy loses patience and tugs the remainder all at once. She's never been a patient person, never once in all her lives. She's all lips and hands, and Clara be damned, who cares what the humans might think?

 

Missy is long gone when he steps out of the shower, but he still takes a moment to glance into the bedroom in case she's reappeared. She hasn't.

He looks in the mirror and sees that his lower lip is pleasantly swollen, the little marks of her teeth imprinted in the reddened flesh. He raises a hand to touch it, turns this way and that to see it from every angle. 

It suits him.

 

She pauses with her hand at his throat, squeezes just enough to make her point. 

“You couldn't kill me,” he says confidently, “any more than I could kill you.”

The pressure increases and maybe he's wrong, maybe this time she's cold enough to actually do it. Then her hand moves away and she laughs, pushes him back against the wall hard enough that the impact hurts the back of his head.

“Just because we're the only ones left -” she begins.

“Not just that,” he says, and leaves the remainder unspoken. Neither one of them has ever been the type to say these things out loud.

 

 

They manage to lose most of their clothes before they fall onto the bed. She pulls him over her, spreads her legs and he moves to join their bodies. 

She stops him with the lightest touch to his shoulder. “Say my name.”

“Missy.”

“You know what I want to hear.”

“Mistress.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Good boy,” she says, lifting her hips to meet him. 

 

He meets Clara again before all the marks have faded. He lets her stare at what's visible, watches her small hands fist at her sides. 

“Where is she?” 

“I don't know,” he says, honest. He meets her gaze, silently dares her to mention loyalty or trust or any of the dozen things she threw into the lava with those imaginary keys. She's still the better person, of course, but she doesn't realise it right now.

“I don't understand you,” she says, finally. 

“No, you don't,” he says, glancing away. “I hope you never will.”

 

Missy leans over him with her hands above his hearts. A few locks of hair have fallen loose around her shoulders and her skin is flushed. She taps out a double heartbeat on his chest with the nails of her left hand. 

He runs his hands up and down her body, eventually stopping at her waist. He says, “I -”

She slaps his face, hard. “Shut up.” She stares at him, simmering silently, then begins to move again. 

 

Eventually the marks on his skin fade away. He'd hoped for a scar, but nothing physical remains. She has left a dozen kinds of pain and yet he has nothing to show for any of it. It doesn't seem right. 

She'd probably think it was funny.


End file.
